Sweet and Salty
by Queen Punk
Summary: There was no dark sense of urgency, no evil villain, no bombs, nothing like what either of them were used to. They were just two young (well, young looking)people going on a date just for a chance to hang out. No silly strings attached. None of this googly eyed lovey dovey crap that made her sick. They were just enjoying each other's company.
1. French Fries and Milkshakes

1. French Fries and Milkshakes

The first time he asked her out was so sweet she couldn't say no. She may be a badass, but event the toughest of women would melt at being handed flowers and having those big baby blues staring nervously at you as you were a bomb about to go off.

He had shuffled nervously, sticking his hands into his pockets, a charmingly shy smile playing on his lips,"I was wondering if maybe we could go out tonight?"

She had surprised him by actually saying yes. Not because she particularly liked Steve in the romantic sense, but because Natasha hadn't received a proposition so disarmingly nice in a _long_ time. Normally she was hit on by men with ulterior motives or men that she was sent to spy on. All with their own agendas that she had to struggle to keep up with to get a step ahead.

Natasha didn't stress over where he was taking her, although when she brought it up she had emphasized that she didn't particularly enjoy four star restaurants. The Black Widow already spent too much time in such locations trying to lure victims into her web. She didn't want him to accidentally pick the one restaurant where she may have or may have not blown some mafia boss's son's manly parts off to scare him out of the sex trade business. It was an optional assignment.

She had dressed casually in dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Minimal make-up and her hair (returned to its natural straightness, she was finished with the maintenance of curls) pulled back into a sloppy bun. Natasha in her natural element preferred not to over think on outfits. She did that enough on her assignments. Steve was dressed in his normal khakis and button down ensemble, something that would be considered normal in the 40s and now looked like he was always going to church.

"So," she started the conversation,"where does the Cap take women to get them all twitterpated?"

"Twitterpated?" he asked,"Is that a slang word?"

Damn. "Sorry, movie reference. A bad one at that. Where's this super secret date place we're supposed to be going to?"

Natasha had tried every trick in her book to find out where he was taking her. It was kind of difficult to do when the person you are trying to get information on leaves not a single electronic trail. He _barely _knew how to use a cell phone to talk in it(and even now he nearly shouted every time he had a conversation on it)much less how to text on one. Don't even get her started on the one time Tony tried to show him how to use the internet. Needless to say, her efforts at snooping had been fruitless. So much for being a first class spy. Even when she had tried to discreetly wheedle the information out of Steve, he had seen right through her( she had thought only Clint could do that) and just shook his head," You'll see."

He said nothing as they boarded into a taxi, him giving the driver directions to some location she was still unaware of. They chatted on the way there, keeping the tone light and unobtrusive. For the first time in a long time, Natasha was having fun. There was no dark sense of urgency, no evil villain, no bombs, nothing like what either of them were used to. They were just two young (well, young _looking_)people going on a date just for a chance to hang out. No silly strings attached. None of this googly eyed lovey dovey crap that made her sick. They were just enjoying each other's company.

It was a place called _Bernie's Diner _and looked just how someone would imagine a place with such a name. Retro chrome and red decorated the outside, the neon glow of the sign shining brightly in the front window. It was small and quaint, with older clearly loyal customers. Steve was looking from the building to her," Do you like it? They serve the best milkshakes, but if you want to go somewhere else-"

"Steve, you can't tell me they serve the best milkshakes and expect me to leave without trying them," Natasha couldn't help but tease. It had been forever and a day since she last had anything sweet. There was a strict diet aboard the Helicarrier. Agents were expected to be fit and healthy while on duty.

Steve clearly did not share that same sentiment, if this was the kind of place he frequented. One step into the building and the strong smell of deep fried deliciously heart clotting food filled the air. They settled at the bar, shoulders(well her shoulder and his triceps) brushing.

"So, this is where you spend your off time," she commented, noticing the familiarity between him and the waitress, an older woman with a distinct Jersey accent and an obvious obsession with big hair and bubblegum. "Can't say I'm surprised."

"Yeah," he said, clearly comfortable in this environment," it's not fancy or technical. Reminds me of-" then he looked confused. She could see him struggling to find the word to describe what he wanted. _Past? Back then? The 40s? Home?_ Natasha knew it was difficult for him to accept that things were different, but she also knew that it was even more difficult to comprehend that what he thought happened last year was actually over seventy years ago. That all of his friends and family and the _entire world _had aged or died and they had all gone through these changes gradually and had gotten to experience it while he was thrown in without any warning or understanding of what this world has become. There was only one thing Natasha knew they had in common with that: Most of her friends were dead, too.

"Well," she examined the menu," I think I'll try a blueberry milkshake with a side of fries. You?"

His eyes locked on her and she felt warmth spread through her. She had distracted him, and without bringing it up had managed to keep his mind from turning towards darker thoughts. She felt it was only fair. He would do the same thing for her, or anyone. Just to save someone from themselves for a moment was easy, keeping it that way was another.

"Seems like something you would get," he said lightly.

"Oh? And how?" she smiled, enjoying the feeling of his blue eyes focused on her. Enjoyed it a little too much. And she didn't feel guilty about it at all in that moment.

"It's sweet and salty, like you," Steve teased, bumping her shoulder in a friendly gesture.

Natasha rolled her eyes, tapping a staccato beat on the counter," Well, at least I taste good."

Damn. If that man didn't look adorable when he blushed. It should be illegal. A small part inside of her was saying _aaaw._ The other larger side was harshly reminding the small side that he was a formidable soldier and one hell of a good Captain and did _not _need to be disrespected by being _aaaawed _at. Honestly, she hadn't intended for it to come out in a sexual way. It had just slipped out.

"I'll just have to take your word on that," he choked out, lips twitching in amusement although his cheeks clearly burned with embarrassment. Improvement. He must be adjusting to crude humor better than she thought. Probably had to do with having to deal with Stark who usually said the first vulgar thing that came to his mind.

"What do you plan on ordering?" Natasha steered the conversation into a more kid-friendly direction(Or Cap-friendly in this case). She didn't want to chase away her date.

"Vanilla milkshake and fries," he answered.

"Now vanilla makes sense," she said critically, pretending to scrutinize him," plain but still a classic. Of course, _you_ are not salty."

Then Steve peered down at her through her eyelashes, a confident smile on his face," That is true, but I do like sweet and salty. They make a good combination."

Natasha smirked back up at him," Can't say I don't agree."

The next week he asked her out again, and then the next week, and the next week. He asked her out until it wasn't necessary. Anytime they weren't on assignment, Fridays was their date night. They weren't in love or anything silly like that. They always had to be someone else, the Black Widow or Captain America. They always had their masks on. But for those Friday dates, the two of them were just Steve and Natasha. Two people enjoying one another's company while also enjoying the delicious milkshakes with their fries.

/

**Author's Note:** I felt the need to write something sweet, friendly, and a touch romantic. It's not perfect, but I like it and I hope at least one other person does. The point of this is kinda to say you don't always need drama in a relationship or to even be completely serious on a date. Just have fun and just be yourself.

I really tried to keep Tasha and Steve in character. If Steve seems a little _bland_ its because I'm not used to writing a whole heartedly good person like him. I'm more used to writing dark, complex personas. Tasha is never seen with her hair down in the movies, so I took a little liberty with her personality and behavior. I mean, she has to loosen up a little when she isn't in Black Widow Mode, right?

Also, this story will be under 'complete' but I plan on adding more one-shots as chapters.


	2. Summer in the City

2. Summer in the City

It was unmercifully hot. As an ex-Russian the heat only managed to get under her skin much easier. Natasha was tempted to ask Thor who was labeled as 'god' of the sun next time he came to Earth( Or Midgard as he still stubbornly calls it) and then she'd make a deal with the devil (Loki) to make that being's life as miserable as he made hers during these awful summers. She was wishing Fury would call her to be on some assignment where the temperature never rose above sixty degrees.

Sadly, for her anyway, the world was at peace and had no need for the Black Widow right now. Natasha was forced to take sanctuary in her tiny one bathroom, no bedroom, nearly no kitchen apartment.

She normally loved her little apartment, it was just enough room for her and Rex, her pet cat (which she had acquired after she had assassinated his previous owner, a major CEO who was selling weapons to enemy countries). She could probably afford a bigger apartment, maybe even a small house but Natasha was particularly fond of her own little niche. She had designed every detail to make it feel like home.

The walls were a light shade of blue, her cupboards in the kitchen painted black and white, and all of her appliances were sleek and modern. The small two person couch(that pulled out to be a bed) was a green velvet.

The couch was also occupied by two people who were not invited.

"Clint, why are you here?"

Her comrade shrugged, flipping through _her_ TV channels on _her _remote control while having his ass seated in _her_ spot," The air conditioning busted at the S.H.E.I.L.D. apartments. I figured we could crash here for the day."

The bastard didn't even bother asking if she minded. Natasha shot an in inquiring look at his companion," And you're here because….?"

"Clint invited me," Kate Bishop replied, shifting her legs to lay across Clint's lap, nudging him in the chest with a small foot," he told me he called first."

The younger girl glared at him with icy blue eyes, but he only smirked clearly pleased with himself. Natasha arched a brow," How is S.H.E.I.L.D.'s air conditioning not working? Doesn't Stark handle all electronics? None of his products have broken down before."

There was something they weren't telling her.

Kate shifted uncomfortably, twirling a lock of inky black hair clockwise around her index finger," Well, it _literally_ got busted. We don't know the whole story, but word is that it was probably Deadpool or Spidey pulling a prank."

Typical idiotic behavior. Natasha didn't understand how they wormed their way into working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Peter Parker was too reckless to do anything useful and Wade was just plain psychotic. She didn't bother brooding on the topic anymore. Maybe one day the two of them would finally start pulling their weight and prove her wrong like one billionaire had in the past.

Wait.

"Why aren't you at the Tower? Plenty of room _and _air conditioning there. Tony said we should think of it as our home away from home," she suggested, hoping he'd get the hint and leave. Natasha had really wanted to just curl up on the couch today with Rex and pig out while watching some cheesy romantic comedy movie.

"It's not exactly homey at the moment," he answered frostily, stopping his channel flipping on the Travel Channel.

"Hey, I've eaten there before," Kate said a little too enthusiastically. Natasha could tell she was trying to steer the conversation into a different direction. " They really do have the best omle-"

"Why aren't you at the Tower, Clint?" the Black Widow pressed, hardening her stance, arms folded over her chest, eyes boring into Clint's steely brown ones. Something was wrong and she wouldn't rest until she found out the problem. He would break down under her resolve. People always did.

He dropped his gaze first, but she still firmly kept focus.

"Thor's there and he brought along a _friend_," he sneered, the last word probably tasting foul rolling off his tongue. His hands reflexively clenched into fists. Kate didn't say anything, just placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Loki. She should have known.

Natasha didn't know all the details, the whole situation was being kept very classified, but Loki was being granted the right to travel to Earth as long as he had his powers sealed and did not stray far from Thor. A verdict from the Allfather, to try and teach the little psychopath to appreciate humanity and all they had to offer.

She had never forgiven him for what he did to Clint and had thankfully never had to be in his horrendous company. Natasha had supposed it was for the best, as she didn't know if she could restrain herself from killing him with her bare hands in every torturous way she knew if they were ever in the same room together.

Relaxing her stance, she just frowned," I see."

Clint, even though he would never verbally admit it, had never fully gotten over Loki manipulating his mind. Both of them had been through a lot, their bodies scarred enough to tell the stories, but the mind was sacred. It was something that they had thought could never be tampered with. Their one true sanctuary. The only thing they could really claim was entirely theirs.

And Loki had taken that from Clint.

Rex peeked his graying muzzle out from behind the couch, glaring at the intruders balefully with his one good eye. He hated guests even more than she did. Especially Clint, for some reason. Natasha suspected it was other males he hated in general, but hadn't brought any others home to test the theory. She would feel bad if he bit Steve like he had been known to do to Clint.

There wasn't anything she could do about her house guests. Clint wouldn't budge and she wouldn't just kick him out.

"I'll go pick up some movies from Redbox, you can order some pizza," she said, walking to the door and lacing her tennis shoes up.

She could practically feel the glow of his triumphant smile," Anchovies and pepperoni for you, or are you actually going to get something that other people can stomach?"

Natasha pointed an accusing finger at him," Says the guy who eats pineapples and mushrooms on his pizza."

Kate gagged," Why can't you two just eat a plain cheese pizza?"

Clint laughed and she walked out, calling over her shoulder as the door shut," Because that would be boring."

/

Natasha tapped her foot impatiently, the heat pressing in on all sides, beads of sweat were beginning to drip down her forehead. Damn whoever decided the nearest Redbox had to be outdoors. She drew a finger across the screen, leading it to the _Romantic Comedy_ section. A nice chic flick sounded like fun for her and Kate, but torture for poor Clint. Perfect. They even had some of her favorites. Thirteen Going on Thirty(Was it just her or did the actor playing Matty look suspiciously like Bruce?) and Bride Wars.

"Tasha?" she heard a very familiar voice ask. She turned and smiled, her heartbeat picking up a little although she would deny it if anyone were to ask," Steve?"

He had a map in one hand and his art supplies in the other. Slivery dark grey powder caked his hands. Steve must've been drawing in the park again. Natasha had once curiously peeked into his sketchpad and had been surprised at the amount of detail his drawings had. They had been so lifelike she had expected some of them to start moving on the paper or to reach out and grab her. There were drawings of the Avengers, each one uncannily similar to the actual person the picture depicted. Tony smirking with his sunglasses on, Bruce concentrating as he worked on an experiment, Thor eating pop tarts with Jane, Clint poised with his bow at the ready, and drawings of her. Not of her fighting or glaring, but of her smiling, thoughtfully reading a book, laughing, and even one of her cooking. She had been flattered to see she was drawn the most out of them.

That was the light side of his artwork. The others were of icy oceans, crashed planes, the Red Skull; most bleeding into one another in an abstract fashion that made the viewer feel angry and alone. There were sorrowful, bittersweet portraits of people he had lost. Most of his field unit in battle, drunk and happy in a barroom, many pictures of frozen moments in time. So perfect they looked like snapshots.

Then there was Peggy. Shockingly, there wasn't as many of her as Natasha had expected. Most, she had noticed, were drawn either before or after the sketches of Natasha. They were perhaps the hardest to look at. One showed her standing in a lowly lit pub, standing out in a bright red dress, her dark hair beautifully arranged, her brown eyes soft and steely simultaneously. The background had been colored with a cobalt blue tone, Peggy standing out all the more. Natasha was pretty sure this was what the world had looked like for Steve when the British agent had walked into the room. She could practically feel the love he felt for Peggy bleed through the page.

Another one, was of them dancing. Steve had managed to capture himself awkwardly staring at his feet, a sweet yet nervous smile on his face. Peggy, her dark hair wound up into a bun, was obviously laughing at him, her red lips clearly in the middle of teasing him. Both were dressed to the nines in 40s fashion. Him in an impeccably pressed suit and her in a long no shoulder black dress with ruffles around the trim. The background was a painted abstract of blacks and reds, nearly blending in with Peggy, giving the woman an almost phantom like appearance.

Natasha had been ashamed to feel slightly jealous. She had to remind herself that they were just friends who went out on dates every now and then. She wasn't trying to replace Peggy and they weren't in love with each other. She knows this.

"You're back from your mission early," she observed, trying to ignore what had been festering in her mind lately.

"It was just a simple retrieval, pretty boring actually," he smiled before saying," It's such a beautiful day and you're going to sit inside and watch movies. Such a waste of a beautiful day."

Natasha rolled her eyes, of course he would find this miserable weather enjoyable," You really do sound like an old man when you talk like that. Besides, I'm Russian. If I stay out much longer I might melt in this heat."

Steve laughed," Last time I checked, being Russian doesn't mean you're made of ice."

She shrugged," Close enough."

Natasha continued to make small talk as she paid for her movies, tucking them into her purse. She was suddenly faced with a dilemma, she could either say goodbye or invite him to movie night. Inviting him over would open up a new side of their relationship. He had never been to her apartment and she had never been inside his apartment at Avenger Tower. It would somehow make things between them more solid and she didn't know if she was quite ready for that yet.

"You're having a movie night then?" Steve asked gesturing towards the Redbox before stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, Clint and Kate decided to crash at my place so I figured that I might as well entertain them. Might keep them from destroying the place."

"Is that a serious concern?"

"With Clint? Definitely. Not so much with Kate. She's usually the one who cleans up messes," she answered.

"Who's Kate? Is she Clint's girl?"

Natasha had to think about this one, frowning" I actually don't know. I think they're friends, but they could be more if given the chance. They do have a bit of an age difference. He's ten years older than her."

"Well, I'm nearly sixty years older than you," he observed, his demeanor turning serious," and Thor's centuries older than Jane. I don't think age really comes into consideration with our relationships."

"I guess so," she agreed, noting how he placed their relationship within the likes of Thor and Jane's, two people seriously dating. Maybe what they had meant more to Steve than she had first thought. Maybe she meant more than she had first thought. Natasha quickly dismissed that last thought. They were simply casually dating, nothing deeper than that.

Her hair was starting to become plastered to her head with sweat. Shit. She might actually be melting. Natasha shuffled, mildly surprised her rubber soles hadn't melted into the pavement.

"I'm probably going to have to head back now," she started awkwardly, trying to distance herself from the idea of inviting him over. It was best if they kept their relationship as casual as possible.

"Oh," his smile remained on his face, but Natasha could see he was disappointed. There was also something else lurking there also: loneliness. She felt a wave of guilt overwhelm her. Natasha was going home to two (annoying) friends and a cat. Steve was going home to no one. Thor was going to be busy with his brother and Jane. Tony was in Monte Carlo with Pepper on a romantic getaway. He really didn't have anyone to go home to.

She licked her dry lips," Would you like to come with?"

Steve's eyes lit up with joy and he eagerly said," I'd love to, as long as it's not a problem."

Natasha smiled, happy to see him happy," It's not a problem at all."

While the sun had beaten down at record highs that summer, Natasha and Steve had spent most of that time at her apartment. Usually watching movies or playing board games with the other Avengers, but then it morphed into another form of date night with just the two of them. They still weren't in love with one another and Natasha doubted they even had the capability to. Both of them were too screwed up to truly lose themselves to another person, too guarded.

That was fine with them. They were happy with this noncommittal relationship. It suited Natasha just fine, she didn't have to worry about anyone using Steve against her. They were just really good friends.

She had to keep reminding herself of that.

/

**Author's Note:** KATE BISHOP IS NOT MINE! She is a legit character in the Marvel Comics Universe, featured in the comic book series Young Avengers.

For people who actually know this character, before anyone starts arguing about her age and her and Clint's relationship, I have a few things to say in argument. 1.) I picture her being around twenty-one or twenty-two. 2.) Clint and Kate's relationship in this story I will _try_ to leave to the reader's choice. It can be as romantic or platonic as you want.

This chapter is meant to address some of Natasha's worries about her relationship with Steve and how she deals with them. Usually by repressing them. They still aren't 'in love' or anything like that, but Natasha is caving to the _idea_ of _considering _making it more serious. There are many other issues with these two being a couple that I will try to address while still trying to keep this as a more friend-oriented relationship. I assure you, Natasha will not turn into a lovesick mess in this story and Steve will not turn into her knight in shining armor with all that sweet talk that gives people cavities. Relationships vary from couple to couple and since Natasha is so very independent and Steve being his chivalrous-self I just picture them trying to keep the balance in their relationship to be a struggle.

I hope you enjoyed reading!


	3. The Color Green

She thumbed through the calendar pages, tapping her nail on the box that read _August 12__th__. _Leaning forward she sighed, resting her cheek along the grooves of her knuckle. Another year and yet it still manages to sneak up on her. She always tells herself she'll be stronger the next year, but that never happens. Even now she could feel dark anxiety pulsing, the sharp sting of bitterness slipping into her thoughts. It was times like this where she wanted to stab something, maim it. Try to release her frustrations onto the world. Of course, since she was now a 'reformed' citizen, it wouldn't be in her best interest to let loose with such actions. She knows that her past is still all people know her by. One slip up and she could end up right where she started.

Alone. On the streets. Doing whatever it takes to survive.

And now, more than ever, she never wants to revert to _just _being the Black Widow. That aspect of her personality was just a small piece of her. It used to be all she had and all she was.

But, she has a family now. A crazy superhero family that drives her nuts and makes her feel at home. She has Clint, Bruce, Thor, and Tony; the brothers she never wanted. She has Steve; well, she doesn't know what they have but it's _something_. Hell, even Fury can be added into their fucked up little band of misfits. As the grumpy uncle or something.

She hasn't cared for people in a long time(the exception being Clint). Matter of fact, she hasn't had a family in a longer time. She doesn't want her old life to interfere with her new one.

Natasha needs some vodka, something strong that will keep the past from creeping back in. Keep the memories at bay.

A half bottle later, she was beginning to regret her choice. Russian or not, no one can chug alcohol as quickly as she had and still stand upright. She was lying on the side of her couch, a bottle in one hand and the other clenched in a viselike fist. She could feel the small object nestled there, biting into her skin. Booze and pain. Natasha sometimes felt like a hypocrite when she judged Tony for his bad habits. Of course, she didn't fall apart towards temptation as easily as the billionaire did. She held herself together. Stayed professional. Calm, deadly, poised-Black Widow.

Rex's face floated in her vision from where he was perched, peeking down from the couch seat. His acid-yellow eye was narrowed with irritation and he meowed in protest.

"Sh'up, _osuzhdat' koshka*," _she mumbled, closing her eyes, her words slurred and thick with her accent. Natasha heard him snort disdainfully. She wondered why she kept the little nuisance around. He cost more than he was worth. Well, that was a lie. That damned cat was some kind of Persian bloodline that could be traced back to when the first smashed face cats originated. His first owner must've spent a fortune on him.

Natasha had only slit someone's throat to acquire an ugly million dollar pet that she didn't even want. She just never got around to finding the kitten a new home and before she knew it, that same kitten was a full grown cat and set in his ways.

She felt a heavy weight drop down onto her chest and opened her eyes to one again meet Rex's as he continued to glare and pout like a petulant child.

"G' way, _koshka," _she struggled to snarl out.

After a few heartbeats of them glaring at one another, Natasha finally gave in and tried to sit up. Rex slipped down into her lap as she leaned against the couch for support. He began purring and rubbing his face into the hollow of her throat. Damn him. Always getting his way.

She clenched her fist tighter before releasing her hold.

A half of a dented, silver heart-shaped locket lay there, the design and make blatantly cheap. Obviously faux silver and she knew on the back there was a tiny hole where a plastic diamond used to be. Natasha drank in the picture inside a few moments before she wrapped her fingers around it again, trying to keep a grip on what she had lost.

/

"Tash? You all right?"

Damn. It had to be _Tony_ of all people to notice she wasn't quite right.

"I'm fine. Why are you asking?" Even as the words left her mouth, she knew they sounded all wrong. Too forceful, on edge. Natasha had to get a grip.

Tony held up his hands in an I come in peace gesture," Well, that rookie you were training earlier almost got a hit in."

"He didn't," she snapped," I was perfectly in control during that fight."

The billionaire was right, she had been distracted and if it hadn't been from her body moving automatically from years of practice and skill that damned rookie would've punched her right in the throat.

"I never said you weren't," he replied smoothly.

Natasha scowled at him before turning to march out the door, she paused a little ways in the hallway leading away from the Helicarrier's training facility.

Clint's voice floated from where she had left," Don't worry about it. She always gets a little bit pissy around this time of the year."

"I don't know if you know very much about female biology, but that's supposed to happen once a month, not once a year," Stark snarked out. Smartass.

"Does anyone know why?" Steve asked, his voice showing genuine concern.

Instead of Clint answering, Bruce spoke softly," The same reason Tony can't stand small spaces, why you can't stand anything cold. She has something she probably wants to forget, but can't seem to leave it behind."

Natasha simultaneously agreed and disagreed with him. She wanted to forget and she wanted to remember. If she forgets, she loses something precious but regains peace of mind. If she remembers, she might never be able to step away from her past. She would always question: _why? _She would always wonder: _what if? _Natasha didn't have the patience for such trivial questions.

Later that day, Natasha was once again in her apartment with the other half of the vodka almost gone. The half-locket was clenched in her hand again. Rex had given up trying to lift her spirits and was now content sitting down beside her on the couch, his black fur blending into her uniform that she hadn't bothered to change out of.

She was glad for the partially emotional numbing effects of alcohol, it dampened her bitterness, anger, regret into an easier to handle chaos than a turmoil that she would surely break down from.

She ran a hand through his silky black pelt. A lot of people assumed her favorite color was black, she couldn't help musing. _Black_ Widow always wore some form of it with splashes of other colors. Others assumed her favorite color was red. _The color of blood of fire of destruction. _She hated the color red.

Natasha drained the last bit of alcohol in one quick gulp. Her thoughts were becoming cloudy and unpredictable. Good. She struggled to prop her feet up onto the couch. Not so good.

Rex growled low in his throat at her fidgeting. She was tempted to growl back at him. Humans were still only animals. Well, most humans. She was an arachnid. A poisonous spider. Born only to sink her fangs and weave a web of lies to hold the bodies of her victims. She imagined each one hanging upside down, their mouths open and dripping blood. Some would have their throats cut out, others with bullets in their brains, and a few special ones that she had taken care to give a unique death.

Natasha felt like she could be either a therapist's greatest treasure or worst nightmare.

She felt her eyes begin to droop and knew it was only a matter of time before she passed out. Sitting up, in her work uniform, shitfaced. Damn, she was a mess.

A knock on the door.

Her eyes snapped open in horror. No one-_no one_-should see her like this. Not now, not ever. With inebriated grace she struggled to straighten herself up. She stood up, the world tilting on its axis. Natasha placed one foot in front of the other and nearly fell onto her face. The knocking persisted, quiet and polite.

Natasha threw the bottle behind the couch, it clattered against it noisily and she waited until her apartment was silent before calling out warily," Come in, the door's unlocked."

If it were an assassin, Natasha could still take them out. Even while drunk off her ass.

The white door creaked open to reveal Steve, still dressed in his gym clothes. His was worried, she could tell, a small crease appearing right in between his eyebrows. 

"Natasha," he greeted, smiling a little, clearly happy to see her standing(barely) and apparently healthy," sorry for stopping by unannounced. I just wanted to apologize for Tony's comments earlier."_ And to see if you're okay_, was the unspoken sentence left hanging in the air. Because Tony will say and do whatever he wants, there really isn't a point in apologizing to every person he insults. You just get used to it or gain a sense a humor.

"It's fine. Not the first time Tony's pried into things that aren't his business," Natasha soothed, secretly proud of the way her voice didn't slur. She must be a better actress than she thought.

Then, Steve decided to walk closer towards her, further into the apartment.

"Actually, that wasn't my only reason for coming over," he said, smiling," I was wondering if you'd like to come see a movie with me this weekend."

He didn't look nervous, like the first time he'd asked her out, probably sure she'd say yes by now. She'd never turned him down and didn't plan on anytime soon.

Natasha just wished he wasn't using this as a cover up. She knows he's really here to make sure she's not suicidal or something along those lines.

She forced a smile," I'd love to."

Steve moved even closer to her, a shadow of concern still on his face and he reached out towards her arm trying to draw her closer. This was new. She stumbled forward clumsily.

His face loomed in closer to hers, head tilted and he pressed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Natasha was suddenly dizzy. Her cheek was tingling. Everything was reduced to only him. His scent, the feel of his hand on her arm, and the warmth emanating from his body. Getting a real kiss from him seemed like a good idea.

She grabbed the collar of his shirt, dragging him down, smashing her lips against his. It wasn't in the least bit romantic, based on drunken logic and the craving to be the center of someone's world. Just for a moment. Natasha slid her other hand up his arm towards the back of his neck, allowing her nails to lightly scrape the sensitive skin there. Natasha inquiringly opened her mouth, hoping to deepen the kiss, only to have Steve abruptly pulled away. It was only in that moment she realized that he had been standing completely still, accepting her actions only out of shock.

"Have you been drinking? "was the first thing out of his mouth.

Shit. This was not good. Suddenly, all drunkenness was drained out of her and she realized with horror what she had done. She had just practically _molested_ him. If Steve had been a weaker man she would've done more than kiss him in the pitiful state she was in.

"A little," she admitted quietly, staring at his chest, not able to meet his eyes. "Half a bottle of vodka."

Natasha wouldn't meet his eyes and she suddenly felt a flash of anger. If he dared to judge her in her own home-

"Why?"

"Why _what?_" she snarled, backing away from him, eyes flashing coldly." Why am I so _distant? _Why am I so _angry? _Why am I _drinking?_ There are a lot of _whys_ here, Steve."

She met his clear gaze defiantly, waiting for his judgment.

"I'm more concerned over the _why_ that caused all of that," Steve answered," and I also want to know why you can't tell your _team_ the reason you've been lashing out at everyone for no reason this past week."

"That's easy. The answer is _none of their damn business."_

"We can help you," Steve said softly, reaching out towards her.

"No, you _can't_," she spat, backing away from him," no one can. I've been dealing with it myself for years. I don't need anyone's help!"

Natasha was embarrassed and angry. She wanted to be left alone. She wanted him to leave her alone. It was easier this way. Her pride had already taken enough blows today. Nothing was worse in her mind than someone seeing her lose composure.

She met his gaze once again and found herself lost in cornflower blue. They weren't judging her like so many others would if they found her in this state. They only reflected alarm and worry. Natasha felt a twinge of guilt that she was pushing him away. That she pushed everyone away, never letting anyone close. If you don't get attached that means they can never hurt you or leave you. Natasha never wanted that to happen to her. Not again. Never again.

"You might not _want_ it, but you _need _it," Steve said, continuing to reach out towards her and she let him grab her arm and once again bring her closer. Without really thinking, she laid her forehead against his chest and closed her eyes. The words she wanted to say clogged in the back of her throat. Only one word came through," Green."

She could feel his puzzlement so she elaborated in a hoarse whisper," My mother's eyes were green."

Natasha could picture her mother. Long silky blonde hair, big green eyes. Like grass, or leaves. Beautiful and rich. She had always longed to have taken after her mother. The nameless woman whom she only had a single picture of in a beaten up silver locket, that lay in her palm even now. She had always hated her arctic eyes that reflected the coldness of the world she had been dealt. Her mother's eyes had only shown kindness and love. The sweetest woman in the world.

"She died on August twelfth," the statement felt hollow as it fell from her lips.

In some strange, cruel twist of fate Natasha couldn't remember her parents names or even where their house had been. Hell, she didn't even remember what her father looked like, only a foggy memory of large hands lifting her up and tugging on the short bristled red hair of a mustache. But she still remembered that date. The day they died. Natasha could still remember the smoke clogging her lungs, ash getting caught in her hair. Her mother screaming at her to get out of the house even as a beam fell down and took her mother away forever.

She opened her eyes and lifted her hand, where the locket had remained throughout the drama. A faded picture showed a slender woman with a narrow face smiling at whoever was taking the picture.

Steve shifted, tilting her hand, and murmured," You look like her,"

Natasha couldn't help the laugh that escaped her," How? We look almost nothing alike."

"You have the shape of her eyes and your noses are almost exactly the same."

She studied the picture for a few moments and supposed the artist was right. Natasha felt a knot loosen in her chest. Something of her mother had been passed onto her.

"And," he continued," you both carry yourselves the same. See?-"he pointed towards the picture-" she has the same prideful tilt of her chin. I bet she was just as stubborn as you are."

Natasha was silent, studying her mother's profile. It was nice to think that she wasn't just the product of her upbringing. That some of herself was pieces of those who were gone.

"Steve?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"Anytime, sweetheart."

Natasha smiled. She could get used to being called sweetheart.

/

**Author's Note:** Sweet baby Jesus, I am so happy this chapter is finally done! I am particularly proud of how I portrayed Natasha's distress and her back story. As far as I know, all we know about her parents is that they died in a fire. Not their names or even what they looked like. I did take some liberties there.

Also, this is slightly more depressing than I intended for this story, but I feel like if I keep things light and fluffy then we won't really see much depth within their relationship and how it works. This is an example of how Steve acts when Natasha falls apart, somewhere down the line we'll see how Natasha acts when Steve falls apart (not anytime soon, I have something special planned for the next chapter).

I hope you enjoyed reading!


	4. Scars

Natasha was proud of her scars. What most saw as imperfections and signs of abuse or hardships, she saw as badges of strength and endurance. She knew the story behind each one and if some weren't extremely classified then she'd eagerly tell the tale. A knife wound right down her spine, for example, occurred while she was fighting six ninjas over a bottle of sake. It had been a strange mission, one before she was part of S.H.E.I.L.D. Natasha was supposed to be working _with_ the ninjas, but of course things are never that easy. Another one, a bullet wound near her calf, was where Clint had rendered her unable to move so he could talk some sense into her. That one was secretly her favorite.

Since her line of work usually involved her dressing into some less than decent attire and her scars would raise too many question, Natasha would unhappily cover up her scars. Each time she covered them up, she felt like she was erasing who she was. That was the point, but it was always difficult every time she did it. Natasha had to pretend to be so many people it was difficult to keep up a certain persona for each one. So many names and occupations that would flinch from her scars in fear.

Needless to say, she felt freest when she was simply Natasha Romanova- scars obviously on display. Wicked and beautiful, silvery white against the rest of her skin. Better than any tattoo that proclaimed originality. Nothing can be as unique and special as the map of battle wounds that flexed on her body.

Which is why, for no other explicable reason, Natasha couldn't stand the fact that Steve didn't scar. She never thought about it too harshly, more with irritation than anything else. She bonded originally with Clint that way, each trading the stories of how they acquired their battle scars. Every gruesome detail vividly explained.

And that is how the Black Widow made 'friends'.

But, Steve had no scars. She couldn't simply ask about what wasn't there.

His skin, from what she'd seen of it from occasional glimpses, was clear and unblemished. Like it had never been split by a knife or penetrated by a bullet. She knows this is a good thing, the Serum is doing its job. Which is excellent. Most of the time.

It becomes annoying when there's a rare lull in their conversations, as if she should implore deeper into his past. His military past. Try to understand her 'partner' better. As a friend and as a whatever-they-were-to-one-another. It was awkward. Then there were times where she would see him eyeing her scars with curiosity and she would suddenly feel self conscious(she'd never felt that before, actually). Natasha wanted to explain them, but couldn't find the words how to.

So, one night, out of the blue, she simply blurted," Doesn't it bother you? Not having any scars?"

They were lying across her tiny couch, his legs draped over the side, hers halfway overlapping his. His arm was encircled her waist and she traced it absentmindedly with her hand, the skin smooth and taut. Natasha turned her face towards his, tilting her head curiously.

They didn't usually show affection like this, only on rare occasions. The Avengers had been on a month long mission-another alien invasion thwarted. It had been a long and taxing fight. It was nice to have someone hold you when you came back. It didn't matter that they had been together the whole time. While on missions, they had to be Black Widow and Captain America. Unattached and focused. No distractions.

Steve gave her a strange look," I've never really thought about it, to be honest."

She frowned," It would bother me."

His lips quirked up slightly," I know. You wouldn't be you without your scars."

"It's part of my appeal," she bragged, before once again asking," Although, that's kind of my point. Scars are there to remind you of progress and what you've done to become who you are today. Are you sure it doesn't bother you?"

Steve leant his head back on the armrest, and answered," Still no."

A hesitant look came over his face," And, to be honest, I'm not sure I'd want any."

Natasha recoiled slightly, demanding," Why not?"

"Because there are some scars that will only remind you of mistakes. They only mock you for what you did wrong," his eyes clouded over and that's when she had a realization.

He carried his scars on his soul, not on his body, and he wasn't proud of them like she was. The trauma they had caused festered and continued to taunt him. Natasha then knew that if he had to visibly be reminded of these everyday of his life, Steve would never be able to get over them. He wasn't cut from the same cloth as her and Clint. She could gain a scar from a match to the death and only look at it with triumph, while he would only see the person who gave the scar's eyes forever staring blankly up at him. He couldn't just disregard another life or take one without feeling remorse. She believed it was a dog eat dog world. He believed everyone deserves a chance.

That's where they would always be different.

/

**Author's Note:** Really short, I know, and this isn't the 'special' chapter I was planning on submitting. The 'special' one has been moved to the next chapter. The reason is because I finished this one first and this story doesn't really have any set chronological order.

Also, do you realize how many times I wrote the word 'scar' in this fucking chapter?! I'm tired of typing it!(Which is why this chapter is so short…).

You can interpret this anyway you like. Well, the ending has meaning. In a way. Might be an interesting to bring up later in another chapter…

I hope you enjoyed reading!


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